The Duet, Page 2

  Before he’d come along, I was the number one performer at Global Records, the largest music label in the world. In the last two years, our label had constantly reminded me that he and I were neck and neck for the top-selling status. We’d never met before, as our schedules kept us busy, but I loved his music and was a fan myself, so I was happy for his success. I doubted that respect went both ways. Most people brushed my songs off as pop ballads, but I wrote every word and there was a reason that teenage girls everywhere could relate to them.

  They were good songs.

  The rest of the ride to my condo, and even as we rode the elevator up to my floor, I wondered what the record label had up their sleeves concerning me and the seriously sexy Jason Monroe. (Yes, of course, I went back to look at the photo Summer had sent me in the email. Here’s a hint: he was on stage at a music festival with his guitar. His eyes were closed, sweat was dripping down his neck, his brown hair was disheveled, and he was singing a song with every bit of soul he had in him. I couldn’t look away until the Brazilian model literally pried the phone out of my hand.)

  Chapter Two

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  “Turn it off,” I groaned, rolling over to shove my pillow over my head so that the incessant beeping would disappear.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  “Seriously. I will end you if you don’t turn that off,” I said again, this time coming out of my sleepy haze enough to realize that I’d just threatened to kill someone.

  “Um, that’s not my alarm and it’s been going off for the past hour.”

  That voice. That was a male’s voice in my bed.

  I shot up out of my covers and turned to see Mr. Brazilian Model laying in a suggestive pose on top of my duvet. As in, his hand was on his hip with his legs spread apart suggestively. Seriously? Did he just lounge around in his underwear waiting for someone to snap a picture of him? So odd.

  “Oh, jeez. You should get out of my condo,” I said slowly, trying to comprehend the scene before me. It sounded like I was relearning the English language, but his package was a little bit distracting. I mean, I hadn’t seen one in the light of day in over a year.

  His dark brows tugged together as he pushed up off the bed. “I thought we could have another go this morning?” he said, his pouty lips trying to entice me back in. When I thought back to how fuck-tastically terrible the sex had been the night before, it wasn’t hard to shake my head.

  “I’d love that, really, but I am now—” I glanced at my clock and my eyes bulged out of my head. “Ten minutes late to a meeting with my label!”

  I didn’t even bother waiting for his reply. Once I saw the time on my bedside clock, I flew into action. I am not a late person. I am responsible and polite. I show up on time to everything from doctor’s appointments to Bat Mitzvahs – you name it and I’m there five minutes early smiling and proud of my timeliness. (Side note, I’m not Jewish, but I get invited to a strangely large number of Bat Mitzvahs.)

  My massive closet presented me with every clothing option under the sun, but I tossed on a pair of skinny jeans and grabbed the first shirt I saw hanging up. I shoved my makeup bag in my purse, gripped my brown leather flats under my armpit, and then grabbed a banana from the counter.

  All the while, Model Man just posed in my bedroom doorway like he was in the middle of a Fruit of the Loom photoshoot. Before, it’d been a tinsy bit cute, now it was just creepy.

  “Dude, you have to leave,” I said, walking toward the door and hoping he’d follow suit.

  “I think you should stay with me and we can make love in this bed for hours and hours,” he said with his thick Brazilian accent. I could imagine that fifty-percent of the female population would consider him a wet dream come to life, but seriously, he needed to get out of my condo so I could lock up.

  “Yeahhhh, no. I’m sorry, but I have to go, so you can hangout here or you can—” I glanced around my spacious condo, trying to figure out what to say to this guy to get him to leave. Was he just going to live here full-time? I’d come home from work and he’d be on the sofa with his feet propped up on the coffee table? I was not prepared to give up my condo just because this guy had an accent and a cute butt.

  Instead of thinking of something to say, I just turned and left. If Model Man wanted my condo for the morning, then so be it. I knew my driver would be waiting for me downstairs. I’d have ten minutes to brush my hair and make myself presentable in the backseat on the way to my meeting. My meeting with Jason Monroe. Dammit, I couldn’t believe I was already ten minutes late. I glanced down at my watch. Make that twenty minutes late.

  I flew down the stairs while slipping on my flats, too impatient to wait for the elevator, and then shouted out to the concierge as I passed by in a full-run. “Could you make sure that the person in my condo leaves? I’d like it to be discreet so have him leave through the back entrance. And maybe give him some kind of parting gift or something!”

  The concierge eyed me suspiciously, but I didn’t have time to explain any further. Whatever. I couldn’t worry about my new roommate; I had to start focusing on the meeting.

  My driver, Jerry, was standing in the private garage with a frown pulled tight over his mouth. It was hard to see it beneath his bushy, brown mustache, but I knew it was there.

  “I tried to call you, Ms. Heart, but you never answered. I was about to go up and knock on your door,” he said, pulling the back door open for me.

  Poor Jerry, he always did his best to look out for me.

  “I’m so sorry. My alarm didn’t wake me up. We have to be downtown at Global Records as quickly as possible,” I said, sliding into the back seat.

  Jerry ran around the front of the car and in two seconds flat we pulled out into Monday morning traffic. Most of the time Jerry drove at the precise speed limit, offering a smooth and comfortable ride. But that morning he was a speed demon and I almost poked my eye out with my mascara like four times. After I’d spun my hair into a low bun and applied what I hoped was enough make-up to cover up last night’s hangover, I realized that I’d forgotten the most important parts: I hadn’t brushed my teeth or put on deodorant.

  Awesome. Great. I tried out the standard blow-into-the-palm-of-your-hand to test my breath and yes, on a scale of one to ten, I could kill a small puppy with that wretchedness.

  “Jerry, you don’t have a breath mint, do you?” I asked, leaning forward toward the front seat.

  “No ma’am. Would you like me to stop and pick some up?”

  I glanced toward the car’s clock and flinched. “No. We don’t have time, but thank you.”

  I sat back and glanced down at my lap, trying to find inspiration to cure my hygiene woes. I had a make-up bag and my purse. My make-up bag was out unless I wanted to coat my tongue in foundation and hope that would mask the stench. I turned to my purse, and thanked the holy lord, because stuck at the very bottom was a half opened piece of gum. Sure, some of it was coated in an unidentified, pink glitter substance, but I was desperate.

  Next to it, I found a small sample-sized vial of perfume. I sprayed it directly on my armpits and smiled. Sure, I smelled like a retirement home, but I didn’t care. I was actually going to pull this off. I’d walk in and apologize profusely for being late and then they’d smile and offer me coffee and a chocolate croissant. This day was going to turn out okay, I knew it.

  We pulled up outside of Global Records and I took in the glossy building. Two iron statues, in the form of lions, guarded the front entrance and people, donned in power suits, walked in and out of the sleek front doors. They probably weren’t even talking to anyone through their Bluetooth headsets, but it was all about the image.

  “Good luck, Ms. Heart,” Jerry said as he pulled open my back door. I bolted from the car and thanked him as I darted past, but he called out for me.

  “Wait! Would you like my jacket?” he called out.

  The paparazzi were lined up along the street already snapping away, and I cringed at how terrible I
probably looked after last night. I didn’t want to stay out there for another second.

  “No, thank you, Jerry!” I answered, pushing through the front doors and heading straight to the elevator. The lobby staff hadn’t asked me to check-in for years, but the woman behind the front desk gave me a strange look as I passed. Maybe I hadn’t put as much make-up on as I should have.

  It wasn’t until the doors to the elevators were closed, and I was well on my way to the thirty-fifth floor, that I thought back to Jerry’s question. Why would he offer me his jacket? I frowned and then glanced down at my shirt.

  Oh dear God. No. No. This was not happening to me.

  The t-shirt I’d pulled out of my closet earlier was not just a plain white t-shirt like I’d assumed. Nope. Instead, “FUCK DA POLICE” was printed in big, black letters across my chest.

  For ten seconds, I just stood there, trying to grasp how I could have possibly been so stupid. I contemplated the idea that I’d woken up in an alternate universe, or that maybe I was in an episode of the Twilight Zone, but no. This was my life.

  And if you’re wondering why I even owned a shirt like that, Cammie and I had gone as rappers for Halloween the year before and we’d purchased the shirts as a joke. I respect all law enforcement personnel, so don’t get your panties in a wad. I mean, who doesn’t love a man in uniform?

  Dammit. I still had the shirt on.

  I dropped my purse on the elevator floor and then reached for the hem of the shirt so that I could turn it inside out. It’d look completely ridiculous, but it was better than walking into the meeting with the offensive phrase on display for everyone.

  I’d just pulled the shirt up over my bra when the elevator chimed and the doors slid open. I froze. There, directly in front of me, was the conference room I was supposed to have been in thirty minutes earlier. I’d always thought the room was spectacular. It had floor to ceiling glass so that everyone could easily see inside and out. Unfortunately, on that morning, I hated the see-through glass with every fiber of my being because as the doors slid open, my eyes locked directly with Jason Monroe. Like a slow-motion movie he glanced up to see me standing there in my bra, with my shirt half over my head.

  “Fucking hell,” I hissed under my breath, tugging my shirt back down to cover myself. It was time for Plan B: Try to force a heart attack to get out of the meeting.

  As I stepped out of the elevator, Jason Monroe’s eyes slid over the letters on my shirt and then he dropped his gaze to the desk and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe my nerve.

  Oh yeah, great. Join the club, bucko.

  With a deep breath, I pushed open the glass door to the conference room and all five heads swiveled around to face me. These were five people that had the power to drastically change my career, and they were all reading the words on my t-shirt. My brain yelled at me to say something, anything, so I just blurted out whatever I could think of.

  “This is not my shirt and I have no clue how I put it on this morning,” I said, moving toward the empty chair next to Jason’s. “I am, and always have been, a staunch advocate of the Los Angeles Police Department, and first responders everywhere.”

  Awesome, I sounded like a loony-tune.

  “Do you think this is some kind of joke, Brooklyn?” Mr. Daniels asked. Mr. Daniels was the head of the record label and he was arguably the most important person in the music industry. Oh, and he did not find my shirt funny at all.

  “Absolutely not. This is not my type of humor. It’s not funny at all. I was running late this morning, as you all know,” I rambled on, making eye contact with everyone but Jason. The guy had seen my bra, so I wasn’t quite ready to meet his gaze. I could feel him staring at me though, judging me silently. “I’m very sorry about being late and this shirt is just— I can’t — Is there water in here?”

  Suddenly I felt like my throat was closing up and I feared that I was going to die in the middle of that conference room, with a dumb graphic tee on. There’d be a group of old dudes, and one seriously hot Jason Monroe, just standing over me as I slowly stopped breathing.

  I was so enamored by the disturbing fantasy that I didn’t realize Jason was pouring me a cup of water until he’d slid it over in front of me. I swallowed my breath and then reached for the glass, glancing toward him quickly to see if his appearance had loosened up yet. No. God, he was really good looking. His cheekbones could have cut glass and his jaw was defined and strong.

  I could have written a song about his appearance, it was that fascinating. The song would be titled Black. Black hair, black eyes, black five o’clock shadow. He was wrapped in darkness, but it was so mysterious and appealing that you couldn’t help but want to lean in a little closer and see if he’d turn those dark eyes back on you.

  “If you’re properly hydrated, we’d like to begin the meeting now,” Mr. Daniels said with a stern tone. I gulped down another sip of water and took a seat, turning away from Jason. I couldn’t turn back time and re-do the entire morning, so I just wanted to get the meeting over with as quickly as possible.

  “You might be wondering why we called both of you in this morning,” he began. “You two are our top performers here at Global Records. You have different fan bases, both equally strong, but you bring different talents to the table.”

  I started to breathe easier as Mr. Daniels talked about my talents. At least it didn’t sound like he was going to be dropping me from the label anytime soon.

  “The Grammys are coming up in a little over a month and originally you were both slotted for individual performances.”

  I nodded. I already knew all of this. The Academy of Recording Arts had sent out nominations a few weeks earlier, and directly after that my agent notified me that they’d asked me to perform a solo song during the award show. I’d already been practicing my song for the night with my voice coach and choreographer.

  “But that’s changed now,” Mr. Daniels continued.

  If there were a DJ set up in the room, he would have scratched the vinyl to make that declaration even more dramatic.

  “We’ve decided to try something new, to bridge the gap between both of your individual fan bases.”

  Jason leaned forward and I slid my gaze to him, taking in his features as inconspicuously as possible. The guy was sexy with a capital S-E-X-Y. Yes, that’s right, all of his letters deserved to be capitalized.

  “I’m sorry. Are you saying that we’re going to perform together?” he asked, with a gruff voice. It was the first time he’d spoken since I’d arrived and I let his voice wash over me for a moment before I realized what he’d actually said. Wow. He was really not keen on the idea. I fidgeted in my seat and kept my mouth shut as Mr. Daniels addressed Jason.

  “That’s correct. We’ve discussed it already and we’d like the two of you to write and perform a duet at the award show.”

  “No,” Jason answered. One word spoken with enough confidence to send a shiver down my spine. Alright then, meeting adjourned.

  “Excuse me?” Mr. Daniels asked, sitting up an inch taller so that even more of his charcoal-grey designer suit was on display. His sharp jaw clicked back and forth as he stared at Jason with enough heat to start a fire.

  Oy. If I could have, I would have warned Jason to back down. I’d been with Global Records for five years and I couldn’t remember ever talking back to Mr. Daniels. I don’t think anyone in the music industry ever had.

  “I’m a solo artist. I’ve never performed on stage with another singer before. If I’m going to start now, it’s not going to be with Brooklyn Heart.”

  Whoa.

  “Excuse me?” I asked, leaning forward to meet his eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I was furious. In the matter of five minutes, this man had created not one, but two enemies. Maybe I wasn’t as intimidating as Mr. Daniels, but I had pepper spray in my purse and killer aim from this distance.

  Jason gave me a once over, his lip curling into a condescending sneer.

  “N
o offense, princess. But you and I are like apples and oranges. We’d never be able to collaborate on a song together.”

  I scoffed. “You don’t even know me.”

  He grunted and sat back in his chair, clasping his hands together over his stomach. “I’ve witnessed a pretty telling first impression.”

  I let myself take one deep, calming breath before I turned toward Mr. Daniels. With a sugarcoated smile and a twinkle in my eye, I gave him my response.

  “I’d be happy to collaborate with Jason. Just let me know when and where I need to be to get the job done.” I paused and looked right at Jason as I nailed home the last sentence. “Some of us are professionals.”

  Chapter Three

  Oh my God, if I hadn’t been wearing that ridiculous shirt and chewing on glitter gum, that exit would have been so badass. Like, James Bond explosion badass. I hadn’t turned around as I exited the glass conference room, even though I was only 50% sure the meeting was over. They could have had other stuff to talk to us about, but I just went with it. They could email me about the details later. Sometimes, you gotta work the moment for what it is.

  “Wow. I think you’re making the whole thing sound much cooler than it actually was,” Cammie said over the phone. I’d called her from the car the instant I’d left Global Records.

  “No, seriously. I could hear slow motion applause as I was waiting for the elevator,” I told her as Jerry headed toward a downtown coffee shop. Last week I’d made plans to have coffee with an old friend from college, so even though I wanted to crawl back into bed and nurse my hangover, I didn’t want to cancel.

  “So they applauded you as you stood waiting for the elevator? Why? That’s not even that cool.”

  “Whatever. Let’s go back to the shirt issue and the fact that you can’t buy me gag gifts and then hang them up in my closet and expect me not to wear them to important meetings on accident,” I said, not truly that angry with her. If the situation had been reversed I would have been rolling in laughter over the entire thing.